The truth was, she didn’t want to be alone any more than he did.
Finally lowering her pride enough to enter his room, she slipped into bed with him. She hoped he’d say something that would give her a chance to apologize, that maybe he’d throw out an arm to draw her closer. But he didn’t. He hadn’t bothered to put on any clothes, but he didn’t touch her the rest of the night.
Sheridan opened her eyes to the large green numerals on Cain’s alarm clock. It was after eight—not particularly early. But not as late as she’d wanted to sleep, either, considering what she remembered of last night. Was Amy really dead? Dead like Jason? Gone forever?
It didn’t seem possible.
The phone rang. Cain stirred, then reached over her to pick up the handset. His bare chest came into contact with her arm, but she knew he wasn’t naked anymore. He’d gotten up during the night at least three times to check on his dogs and had come back to bed in his boxers. “’Lo?…Right now?…We’ll be there.”
She felt the temporary weight of his body as he returned the phone to its cradle, but the contact between them didn’t seem to affect him at all. Evidently, he was still angry with her.
“What was that about?” she asked when he got up.
“We have to go down to the station, make a formal statement.” He went down the hall and into the bathroom.
“It was Ned?” she called after him.
“No, Ian Peterson. I’m guessing Ned’s still at the funeral home.”
The funeral home. It was real, all right. Amy had been shot.
While Sheridan listened to the shower, she was relieved to hear the dogs outside. She’d been worried when Cain had gotten up so often.
Finally, she decided to bathe in the pond instead of waiting for a chance to use Cain’s only bathroom. She needed to get out of the cabin, reassure herself that the whole world hadn’t turned hostile. This would be the safest time. The cops were probably still at the crime scene less than a mile away. The killer would have to be an idiot to come anywhere close. And she already knew this killer wasn’t stupid.
Taking Cain’s rifle, just in case, she retrieved her toiletries from her suitcase and a towel from the linen closet and went to see the dogs before heading to the pond.
“Hi, boys.” She hooked her fingers in the chain-link fence as she peered in at them. They seemed to be recovered, all except Maximillian. He wasn’t very energetic, although Koda and Quixote were definitely no worse for wear. Maximillian rested his nose on his paws as he watched her, his eyebrows tweaking quizzically; Koda and Quixote wagged their tails and begged her to let them out.
She took one of the leashes that hung on the fence nearby, then went into the pen and snapped it on Koda’s collar. She had a good weapon, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring an alarm, too. “Want to go for a short walk, boy?”
Koda barked in eager agreement, and she had to hold Quixote back as they passed through the gate. “I’ll take you next time,” she promised.
Koda wanted to run, but Sheridan wasn’t up to that kind of exertion. She was feeling stronger, though. Last night had acted as a reawakening—a reawakening to the desires of a healthy body. And to the knowledge that she had to get well quickly before she wound up getting hurt again.
Sheridan examined the surrounding forest as she walked. It seemed that this killer could get away with anything. First Jason, then her attack, and now Cain’s ex-wife….
She contemplated what her friends would say if they knew about this situation and nearly groaned aloud. She’d call them. Tomorrow Tomorrow would be a better day to tell them. She knew they’d be frantic by then, especially Jon, but she couldn’t deal with anymore right now.
Once she reached the pond, she tied Koda to a tree, set the rifle on a rock where she could grab it in a hurry, and dropped the towel she’d tucked around her waist. Surprisingly, thoughts of Amy—and even her own chagrin at getting more intimately involved with Cain—evaporated beneath a perfect sun, as round and as yellow as the yolk of an egg.
The creek trickling into the pond was the only sound she heard as she stripped down to a spaghetti-strap T-shirt and underwear. Then, with a warm wind caressing her skin, she waded into the water.
Koda sat on his haunches in the shade, watching her.
“You okay over there, Koda?”
He barked, and she smiled. “Good boy.”
Knowing they had to be down at the station soon, she took a quick bath and was about to get out of the water when Koda lurched to his feet and began to strain at the leash. Fear-induced adrenaline shot through Sheridan as she started for the gun. But then she realized that wouldn’t be necessary. It was Cain. He strode into the clearing, wearing a clean pair of jeans and a red T-shirt, his hair still wet.
“You couldn’t have told me?” he said, obviously not pleased that she’d left the house without alerting him.
She nodded toward the gun. “I took precautions.”
Cain didn’t argue. He bent to pat his dog. She decided to get out while he was occupied, but he wasn’t occupied long enough.
Glancing up, she met his enigmatic gaze and straightened, letting the water run off her, knowing it made her T-shirt nearly transparent. “You’re staring,” she breathed—and hoped he’d do a lot more than that. She pictured him striding toward her and taking her in his arms, as he had last night. But he didn’t.
“You’ll want to wear something to cover that love bite,” he said. Then he untied Koda’s leash from the tree while she dressed.
Last night had changed things between them—but by how much? Cain was remote, guarded. And she knew he wouldn’t touch her again, not unless she asked.
Sheridan didn’t have anything with a high neck, so she had to resort to a colorful scarf to hide the hickey Cain had given her. She studied herself in the mirror, wondering if the purple and red scarf matched her pink spaghetti-strap T-shirt, tiered pink and red skirt and sandals. But in the end, she decided it didn’t matter. That scarf was all she had to hide the evidence of their lovemaking. And this was going to be a difficult meeting as it was. She didn’t want to walk into the police station only to have Ned and everyone else sneer at that mark and what it meant.
“I’m ready,” she said, stepping into the living room.
At least she looked better than she had since she’d arrived in Whiterock. Her bruises were fading. But Cain barely glanced at her. He handed her a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and said simply, “Breakfast.”